Cancellation
by SpiritMuse
Summary: The real reason why The Invisible Man was cancelled...


Title: Cancellation  
  
Author: Darien's Muse  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: The real reason why The Invisible Man was cancelled...  
  
Author's Note: Yeah, I'm really working on two other fics right now, but this is a plot bunny that just wouldn't go away. It attacked me while I was watching ASOC.  
  
  
  
---  
  
The end credits rolled, and the two men looked at each other.  
  
"They did it. Those bastards really did it," said the taller one, and turned his brown eyes back to the screen, the finality of it only now starting to sink in.  
  
"Yeah..." replied the other, and kept his eyes on his friend. Once again he noticed how his friend still had all his hair, and although it was completely gray, he still wore it spiked upward, like the smart-ass punk he'd always been. It looked strange on a man his age, but he didn't seem to care. The shorter man felt a small pang of jealousy. His own hair had all but disappeared, only a small ring of nearly white hair remaining.  
  
"And it was such a good show too!" the tall-haired man said, exasperated.  
  
"Yeah..." said the other man again. "Especially the actors. That Vincent Ventresca is a dead ringer for you, my friend."  
  
"Yeah," his friend agreed, "Almost like looking into a mirror.... Well, one that looks about thirty years into the past..." he chuckled, "And how about that other guy, Paul Ben-Victor? I have to say, he captured you pretty good."  
  
"Hmm, yeah, not bad. It takes a lot to truly capture the charms of..."  
  
"I can't believe they made them cancel it!" his friend interrupted him. The shorter man looked at him with only a slight annoyance. He knew how the kid could get. The kid. He almost grinned. After all these years, he still thought of him as 'the kid'.  
  
"Yeah, seems like you can never really get away from The Agency..." he said.  
  
The younger man snorted. "Like they have anything to be afraid of. I mean, come on! It was a science fiction series! Who's ever gonna suspect that it's actually real?"  
  
"I don't get it either," admitted the older man.  
  
"Well, let me tell you this, my friend, I'm not gonna give up on it just like that," said the younger man, and he switched off the tv, since there were only commercials now.  
  
"What are you gonna do about it?" asked his friend.  
  
"Well, you know how there's this fan club, the Imaniacs?"  
  
"Yeah." The older man smiled at the name, it was so fitting.  
  
"They have this whole campaign going on to save the show. I intend to help them." The younger man got up.  
  
"And what are you gonna do then?" The shorter man looked up at his tall friend.  
  
"I'm going to talk to The Agency," the taller man said simply. He looked down at his friend, brown eyes meeting brown eyes. "Wanna help me? Partners one last time?"  
  
"Sure thing, partner," replied the other man. "You know what they say about me, don't you?"  
  
"Bobby Hobbes never bails on his partner," the taller man intentionally misquoted, using the name from the tv series instead.  
  
"Punk," grumbled the older man, but there was a twinkle in his eye.  
  
His friend grinned widely and said: "Oh come on, you gotta admit, it sounds a lot better than with your own name!" He quickly escaped into the kitchen before his old friend could think of a fitting reply. He came back with two bottles and two beer glasses, and put them down on the table, maybe as a peace offering, then he sat down himself.  
  
"Want me to cool the glasses?" he asked his friend, with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Sure, go ahead," his friend answered, knowing how much his friend still enjoyed showing off his talents.  
  
The taller man held out his hands. A small trickle of a silvery liquid appeared on each of his hands. The trickles grew until his whole hands were covered, and then his hands shimmered and disappeared, leaving only empty sleeves. He moved them toward the glasses, and frost started to appear, seemingly out of nowhere. When the glasses were completely frost-covered, he pulled back, shook his hands, and with a soft twinkle like falling metal, they reappeared. Then he picked up the bottles, and poured the liquid into the glasses.  
  
"Thanks," said his friend.  
  
"Anytime." 


End file.
